


all that’s warm in my restless heart

by polyamory



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Asexual Character, Asexual Combeferre, Asexual Grantaire, Asexuality, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyamory/pseuds/polyamory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Combeferre are elementary school teachers. And also secretly in love with each other.<br/>What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	all that’s warm in my restless heart

**Author's Note:**

> some anon on tumblr requested ferretaire teacher au so here you go. i hope you like it!!!

Combeferre is grading his third graders' water cycle drawings when a knock at the door makes him look up.

“Busy?” Grantaire asks. He's leaning up against the door frame, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“No, no, come on in,” Combeferre says, putting his pen down. “I'm having my students draw the water cycle.” he explains.

“Aw,” Grantaire coos, sitting on the edge of Combeferre's desk.

“And they keep telling me about M. R and contrasting colors and how they can't just use five different shades of blue for the whole drawing.” He gives Grantaire a dark look but just a second later his face breaks into a smile.

“You're raising artists, Ferre!” Grantaire laughs.

Combeferre feels himself flush and he doesn't know if it's because of the nickname or because of the way Grantaire throws his head back as he laughs, wrapping one arm around his middle.

There are little crinkles around his eyes and Combeferre's heart starts beating faster at the sight.

“Did you want anything special or did you just come here to distract me from doing my work?” he says and hopes he sounds less petulant than he feels. He never gets any work done after Grantaire's visits; he mostly sits at his desk and sighs, maybe rests his head on the table a little.

“Can't I just visit my favorite science teacher just because?” Grantaire pouts.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow to convey exactly how unimpressed he is.

“Okay, okay. God, I feel like a chastised student, stop looking at me like that.” Grantaire bats a hand at Combeferre's face, laughing.

Then he grows serious again. “I wanted to ask you to take over my Thursday class for me.”

“Wha- no!” Combeferre splutters. “No. No, no, no.” He shakes head violently but in truth he already knows he's going to agree to do whatever Grantaire asks him to.

“Please,” Grantaire whines, drawing the word out. “Do you want me to beg? Because I  _will_ beg.” He's halfway down to his knees before Combeferre stops him with a hand on his shoulder. His other hand comes up to massage the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“Why don't you ask Feuilly?” Combeferre asks, “Why me? I know nothing about art.” And now he definitely sounds petulant.

“Feuilly has his fourth graders in second period and you know that. Please Combeferre, they're in second grade, they're seven years old. What could po-”

“Do not. Finish that sentence.” Combeferre grits out.

Grantaire's eyes are wide from where he's looking up at him, Combeferre's hand clamped over Grantaire's mouth. He feels Grantaire's tongue as he tentatively licks Combeferre's hand.

“You're the only one that's free second period,” Grantaire says as soon as Combeferre removes his hand. Combeferre knows that's not true, “and that I trust with my students.” That might be more true. “You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't really important.” That is definitely true. Grantaire doesn't like asking favors, not even from his friends.

“Okay, yeah I'll do it.” Combeferre relents.

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” Grantaire cries out. “You're the best, you know that?”

He throws his arms around Combeferre's neck, hugging him tight, and since Combeferre is still sitting down Grantaire ends up practically sitting in his lap, their chests pressed together.

Combeferre's heartbeat speeds up rapidly and he prays that Grantaire can't hear the way his breath stutters out of his lungs in one big rush.

He stays stock still for a moment, feeling Grantaire's curls tickle his chin and then starts to disentangle himself from Grantaire's limbs.

There's a strange expression on Grantaire's face when he stands up that Combeferre can't quite read. He looks oddly sad, but that doesn’t make any sense.

“Don't worry, I'll take over your class for you on Thursday, second period.” he tries to smile to cover up how awkward he suddenly feels but it probably looks more like a grimace.

Grantaire won't look at him. He's backing away towards the door and it feels a lot like he's fleeing. He won't look up from the floor, although he's still facing Combeferre. He jams his hands into his pockets, pulls one out, combs his fingers through his hair, rests it at the back of his neck.

He's nervous, Combeferre realizes. Why is this so awkward all of a sudden, Combeferre wonders? What did he do?

“Okay. Then I … I guess I'll just send you an email? With the lesson details?” Grantaire doesn't sound confident.

“Sure, sure,” Combeferre says, but the door is already falling shut behind Grantaire.

He doesn't have long to dwell on Grantaire's abrupt exit, though, because only a few minutes later the bell rings and he's swamped by fourth graders needling him about the day's experiment.

* * *

Grantaire closes the door to Combeferre's classroom behind himself, his heart beating fast and his face hot. He starts walking down the deserted hallway and doesn't allow himself to stop until he reaches his own classroom. The door closes with a dull thud as Grantaire leans against it.

He knows his first graders are gonna be back any minute so he only allows himself a brief moment of panic, replaying the memory of Combeferre pushing him away, discomfort clear on his face. His heart clenches in his chest, rejection burning at the back of his throat, which is ridiculous, really. It's not like he has a monopoly on ill-advised crushes on Combeferre. He's pretty sure half of Combeferre's students' mothers have some kind of ill-advised crush on him.

And who wouldn't, really? Combeferre is gorgeous. He's as close to perfect as is humanly possible. He's patient and kind and open-minded and absolutely stunning with dark, smooth skin and his glasses sliding down his nose and his tattoo sleeves. And if Combeferre in a sweater is a dream come true the Combeferre in a dress shirt and a tie is a gift sent from the heavens. Grantaire still remembers the first time he saw Combeferre in a fitted shirt (the staff Christmas party) and how his mouth went dry and he (almost) walked into a table. And now Combeferre won't even look at him anymore.

He closes his eyes and breathes through the hurt spreading out in his chest until the bell rings.

His face still feels flushed when the first kids come storming in but luckily his skin is dark enough that it doesn't show.

 

Later that night he's complaining about it to Eponine while he helps her grade some papers. And by complaining he means he's nursing a coke and doing a dramatic retelling of The Hug Incident.

“Grantaire,” Eponine interrupts, “you know I love you and I’m trying to be sympathetic here but please, stop talking.” She pats his hand sarcastically, which should not be possible but Eponine does almost everything with varying degrees of sarcasm.

“'Ponine,” he whines, “I'm having a crisis here!”

He goes to take another swig of his coke but before he can Eponine has pulled the bottle out of his hand.

“Okay, that's enough,” she says, “You don't need any more caffeine.” She's pulling the papers away from him and standing up and Grantaire is left blinking at her retreating back as she walks into the kitchen.

A second later she calls out to him.

“What?” he calls back, getting up and following her into the kitchen.

“I said 'what kind of tea do you want?'” she looks back at him where he's leaning against the door frame.

“Whatever you have is fine,” Grantaire says, rubbing a hand over his face. He suddenly feels very tired.

“That man is gonna be the death of me,” he groans into his hand.

“Oh shut it, you!” Eponine says, “Your only problem is that you won't talk about your feelings.”

“I do ta-”

“To him,” Eponine says forcefully, “not to me. Talk to him!”

“What would I do  _that_ for?” Grantaire asks, “Public humiliation and eternal awkwardness?”

“You seriously think that's what's gonna happen?” Eponine asks, one eyebrow raised, regarding him critically.

“What else could happen in that scenario?”

Eponine turns away from where she was leaning against the counter to pour the hot water into their cups. When she turns back to him with one cup in each hand she says, “Two words. Love confessions.”

Grantaire snorts. “Yeah, right. As if.”

Eponine's answering look when she walks past him is scathing.

“Why would Combeferre even _c_ _onsider_ being with someone like me?” Granatire asks, following Eponine back into the living room.

“Let's see,” she puts the cups down on the coffee table and turns back to him. “You're talented, creative, smart,” She's making a show of ticking the words off on her fingers. “funny, compassionate, good with children, interesting. Need I go on?”

“No, no. Please don't.” he sinks down onto the couch and lets his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Eponine nudges his thigh until he shuffles over enough that she can sit down next to him, “I'm serious, you're a catch.” she wraps one arm around his shoulder.

“I'm an alcoholic, a pessimist, and some days I can't even get out of bed, nevertheless do my laundry on time or answer the phone. Plus I could never give Combeferre the kind of relationship he wants.”

“You're a  _recovering_ alcoholic and you know just as well as I do that Combeferre would be the last person to judge you because of your depression.” Eponine squeezes his shoulder. “And if you think Combeferre would force you to have sex with him or do anything else you don't want to or if you think he wouldn't want to be with you just because you're ace, then I don't know if we're even talking about the same person here.”

“But that's my point exactly,” Grantaire mumbles, “He's such a good person. He's genuinely nice and he loves his job and his students and he does volunteer work and I don't deserve someone like him.”

Eponine pulls him in by the arm she still has around his shoulders, effectively smashing his face into the crook of her neck. She whispers something against the top of his head that sounds a lot like “Yes, you do. You really, really do.”

“I love you, Ep,” he says against her collarbone.

“I love you too, R,” she huffs, threading a hand through his hair.

They spend the rest of the evening on the couch and when Eponine puts on a movie she even lets him cry on her shoulder a little.

* * *

That very same evening Combeferre gets an email from Grantaire that reads far too formal for his taste and tells him nothing more than he absolutely has to know. None of the usual jokes or reminders to eat, sleep and relax that Grantaire has made a habit of sending whenever he thinks Combeferre is overworking himself.

What the email tells him is that Grantaire will be gone Thursday morning for “private reasons” whatever that means, mind you, but that he'll be back by third period. Combeferre knows that second period is Grantaire's first class that day, but when he memorized Grantaire's schedule he doesn't know.

They're doing finger paintings right now, Grantaire writes, but luckily he's already instructed the kids and all Combeferre needs to do is put out the paper and paint and see that they don't start a paint fight.

What could possibly go wrong.

 

Combeferre doesn't see Grantaire again for the rest of the week and by the time Thursday rolls around he seriously thinks Grantaire is avoiding him.

He wonders exactly how much he fucked up and if things will eventually go back to normal between them, even though “normal” isn't what he really wants. It's better than not seeing Grantaire at all.

Grantaire his unruly hair and his bright smile, his white teeth a sharp contrast to his dark skin. Grantaire with his breathtakingly blue eyes and his full body laugh that makes Combeferre's knees go weak. Grantaire with his biceps in short sleeves and his strong thighs and even though Combeferre doesn't want to have sex with him doesn't mean he can't appreciate that.

 

Everything starts off well enough, Combeferre ends his own first period a little earlier than usual, trusting the fourth graders to express their delight at a reasonable volume, to put out the paint and paper in Grantaire's room.

Grantaire's classroom looks different from his, understandably, what with his being a science classroom and Grantaire's being an art classroom.

There are small chairs and desks arranged around the room in seemingly random clusters, and pushed against the back wall are numerous easels.

All four walls are covered in drawings and paintings by Grantaire's students and there are sculptures and other art project on every surface that's not being occupied by art supplies.

The room is a burst of colors and creativity and Combeferre can't help thinking that it looks very much like Grantaire.

 

The bell rings and moments later Cosette, the crafts teacher, ushers the kids into the room, smiling at him gently. They pour into the room chattering excitedly, some of them looking up at Combeferre with big, round eyes, smiling wide, toothy grins.

Come to think of it he never thought to ask Grantaire whether he told the class Combeferre would be teaching them today.

“Good morning, kids. My name is M. Combeferre,” he starts.

“Salut, Monsieur!” the class chimes.

“I'm standing in for M. Grantaire today, so any questions you would usually ask him, you ask me, okay?”

Some of the kids nod in response.

“Great. So you're going to be doing finger paintings today and as far as I know M. Grantaire already showed you how to do that and where everything is. Is that right?”

More kids nod this time.

“Okay, then I won't keep you from your art any longer. Come get the paint you need and start painting.” Combeferre says with a smile.

The kids clamber up and walk to the front of the class where Combeferre hands out the little paint buckets to them.

The class is silent after that, everyone focusing on their work.

Combeferre has some worksheets to correct so he doesn't notice the little girl raising her hand until she calls out timidly, “Monsieur Com'ferre?”

He looks up. “Yes? Oh, I'm sorry. How can I help you?” He crouches down next to her desk so she can look him in the eyes while talking to him.

“I wanted to draw a horse,” she says, looking down at her blank paper. “but I don't know how.”

“Oh,” Combeferre breathes out. “Well, I'm no artist, not like M. Grantaire but I might be able to help you with that.”

He grabs a pencil and a scrap of paper and turns back towards– “I'm sorry, I never caught your name, I’m afraid.”

“It's Amélie,” she smiles.

“Okay Amélie, I'm gonna give my best drawing this horse and you should just do the same. Remember that art is not about perfection, it's about expressing yourself.”

She nods again and Combeferre takes that as his clue to start drawing.

It turns out less as a drawing and more as a rough sketch of a horse, but Amélie is happy with it nonetheless, smiling her bright grin up at him from under her bangs.

“Thank you, M. Com'ferre!” she says.

“You're welcome, Amélie.” he replies before a little boy calls for him from across the classroom.

Amélie's question seems to open up a floodgate and suddenly there are kids calling out to him from all around the room, asking him to draw things for them or look at their paintings.

One boy asks him for help mixing blue and white color to get the right shade of blue to paint his clouds and when he takes too long complimenting a little girl's art and a little boy tugs at the hem of his sweater with paint-streaked hands is when he gives up looking respectable and surrenders to the hazards of art.

He ends up with a myriad of colors all over his hands and sweater, there's a streak of green high on his cheek,and he suspects that his hair is slightly yellow from where a kid grabbed onto it to keep herself from falling over.

Combeferre's sitting on the ground next to a little boy's desk, helping him paint the teeth onto his dinosaur, which for some reason doesn't only have feathered wings,but also a trunk like an elephant, when there's soft laughter coming from the doorway.

He turns around so fast he almost knocks over one of the paint buckets.

That just makes Grantaire smile wider, laugh harder. This is the first time they've seen each other since Grantaire fled the room on Monday, and somehow that makes Combeferre's face grow hot.

“You're back early,” he blurts and wants to groan as soon as the words are out of his mouth, because seriously?!

“I am, but actually I didn't mean to interrupt you. You looked like you were having fun.”

* * *

Combeferre laughs a small self-deprecating laugh, ducking his head. One of his hands threads through his hair on reflex and a moment later he pulls it back abruptly, looking at the blue streaks on it with an expression of horror.

Grantaire lets out an unattractive snort at that. It's just that Combeferre is really cute.

And that right there is proof of exactly how far gone he is on this man, because Combeferre, covered in paint, sitting on the ground in Grantaire's classroom surrounded by children, is worse than his wildest fantasies. The kids clearly adore him and that leads Grantaire's thoughts down a very terrifying road.

How do you tell your colleague and good friend that you're a little a lot in love with him and that you want to buy a house and adopt children with him? You don't, that's how.

The bell rings just then and the kids clamber up to put their finished paintings onto the window sill to dry. And yes, Grantaire admits to himself, he did kind of forget they were there for a moment. He's a terrible teacher.

* * *

The class pours out of the room, chattering and laughing, and moments later they're alone in the room. He probably looks horrible, Combeferre thinks disheveled as he is and covered in paint.

“So,” Grantaire says.

“Yeah,” Combeferre agrees, suddenly feeling awkward. He realizes he's still sitting on the ground and gets up quickly, brushing off his pants, but all it does is smear more paint onto them.

“I wanted to apologize for Monday,” Grantaire blurts suddenly.

“What?” Combeferre blinks up at him from where he was inspecting a paint stain on the front of his sweater. “What? No! I mean, no, you have nothing to apologize for. _I_ should apologize. We clearly had different context and intentions but you have to believe me I would never intentionally misuse your trust like that. I swear I will never do anything you're not comfortable with.”

Combeferre's brain is not working right now. All he can think about is that Grantaire somehow found out about his ridiculous crush that's not even really a crush anymore and more being in love, oh shit. And he has to make himself heard. He has to make Grantaire understand that he would never overstep Grantaire's borders. Grantaire has to understand that.

“You just just have to tell me when I go too far or make you uncomfortable.” He doesn't want Grantaire to be uncomfortable around him.

* * *

Combeferre is not making any sense. The only logical explanation he can think of is that Combeferre found out Grantaire's in love with him and now he's trying to let him down easy.

He's pretty sure he's had nightmares like this.

And that thought is so ridiculous Grantaire can't help the snort that escapes him. It's only because he's looking right at him that Grantaire sees the sharp twist to Combeferre's mouth before it smooths out again.

“Please don't,” he says finally and he doesn't even care anymore that he sounds like he's begging. “I get that you're uncomfortable now but, please, please don't apologize. That's just gonna make it worse.”

* * *

Combeferre knows his face does something at those words, can see it reflected in Grantaire's face but he doesn't know what it is. He hopes the heartbreak isn't as visible as it feels right now.

Is Grantaire really disgusted by him now that he knows about Combeferre's true feelings? So much so that he won't even hear him out? He didn't think it was going to be like this. Nothing makes sense right now.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks, desperately hoping the answer will be no. “Because I will, but I was,” he breaks off, takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. “I was kind of hoping we could still be friends. Maybe we could just pretend this never happened?”

And he knows it's the wrong thing to say as soon as he says it but the words are already out and Grantaire's face is growing stormy.

“I- What?! No! Ferre, I get it, okay?” You're uncomfortable with this, I mean I'm- and you're-” Grantaire makes a vague gesture that Combeferre couldn't even interpret if he were a little calmer and a little less distressed. “But I’m not just gonna deny what I feel! I'm not just gonna go ahead and pretend I don't have feelings for you just so you-”

“What?” Combeferre’s brain has short-circuited and his heart is currently somewhere around his knees. Things are making even less sense now. “What did you just say?” He has to hear it, has to make sure he didn't misunderstand, that it wasn't just wishful thinking.

“What?” Grantaire looks just as confused as he feels.

“What did you say about- about having-” he can't say it.

“About having feelings for you?” Grantaire asks.

Combeferre suddenly becomes aware of their surroundings again. He's still standing in the middle of the room, Grantaire still by the door and the distance between them suddenly feels vast. He can't breathe.

The bell must've rang at some point but Combeferre honestly can't remember. They're just lucky neither of them has a third period class.

“You- you do?” he's feeling kind of faint, he should maybe breathe.

Grantaire looks incredulous. “Uh, yeah?”

A few things fall into place then and something dawns on Combeferre, a realization accompanied by a mixture of dread and lightheadedness.

He needs to clear something up  _r_ _ight now._

“What do you think we've been talking about?” he sounds breathless even to his own ears.

“What?” Grantaire's face is twisting up, his eyebrows pulling down.

“What do you think we've been talking about?” Combeferre repeats.

“Me being in love with you?” Grantaire says, but it sounds like a question, like he's not sure. Combeferre needs him to be sure. “And honestly I don't know how you found out because I only ever told 'Ponine and Feuilly and, okay, Joly. And maybe you figured it out by yourself but I'd like to think I'm not that obvious so if that's it then please don't tell me.” Grantaire breaks off, probably because he sees the wide grin on Combeferre's face.

“Isn't that what we've been talking about?”

Combeferre feels like he's floating. There's a happiness bubbling up inside of him that's making him giddy.

“I thought we were talking about- about  _me_ being in love with  _you._ ” It feels strange to say the words out loud after keeping silent about it for so long.

“What?” Grantaire splutters, wide-eyed.

And for one second Combeferre thinks he's somehow still misread the situation but then Grantaire's face breaks out into a smile and he laughs giddily.

“I'm ridiculously in love with you.” Combeferre repeats.

“Excuse me, but I think I'm far more ridiculously in love with you.” Grantaire laughs. It seems like he can't stop smiling which is good because neither can Combeferre.

“Oh yeah? Prove it,” Combeferre jokes.

Grantaire looks apprehensive for a moment before he takes a tentative step forward.

In a few quick steps he's across the room, standing in front of Combeferre.

He's close enough to touch now and just as Combeferre thinks that Grantaire reaches out his hand.

“Can I?” he asks and he sounds so damn unsure of his welcome. Combeferre will just have to make sure he's always welcome.

“Yeah,” he says, but it's more of a whisper than anything else.

Grantaire puts one hand on his waist and after judging Combeferre's reaction puts the other on the side of his neck.

There's still space between them, though, and it's too much for Combeferre's taste so he wraps his arms around Grantaire's waist and pulls him close.

Grantaire lets himself be pulled easily enough, his breath escaping his lungs in a little puff of air against Combeferre's cheek. When he breathes in again Combeferre can feel Grantaire's chest rising against his.

“Are we gonna kiss now?” Grantaire asks and Combeferre's eyes automatically move down to his lips, turned up in a half smile.

“I- yeah. I mean, if you want to. Only if you want to, of course.”

“'If you want to' he says. Do you even know me?” Grantaire huffs, “Do you even know how much I want this? Do you know how long I've wanted this?”

Combeferre puts a hand on Grantaire's cheek to turn his face towards him.

“Do you wanna keep talking about how much you want to kiss me or would you rather just kiss me?” he asks, smiling.

“Well, when you put it like that,” Grantaire replies, smiling right back at him.

He takes Grantaire's face in his hands, stroking a thumb along his cheek bone reverently.

He's so close Combeferre can see each individual eyelash framing Grantaire's startlingly blue eyes. There's a strand of hair falling across his forehead. Combeferre moves to brush it away and somehow ends up with his fingers buried in Grantaire's wild curls.

When Grantaire licks his lips, probably on purpose, Combeferre's eyes drop down to follow the movement of his tongue. His lips come away plump and shiny and Combeferre really wants to kiss him.

So he does.

He draws Grantaire in by the hand resting in his hair, the other one still on his cheek, and presses their lips together gently.

He can feel Grantaire's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks before Grantaire pulls him closer with the hand still on Combeferre's waist. He doesn't try to deepen the kiss though, which Combeferre appreciates.

“Wow,” Grantaire breathes when they separate. His hand is still on Combeferre's neck so he can definitely feel his pulse racing.

“Yeah,” Combeferre laughs.

Grantaire pulls back suddenly and looks down at the ground. Combeferre's neck feels cold where his hand used to be.

Grantaire won't look at him anymore and he has no idea what's going on.

“R?” he asks tentatively.

Grantaire looks at him then only to look away again immediately. He looks stricken.

“You- I mean, you should know- You know I'm ace, right? I'll never want a relationship like … _that._ ”

“Wha-” Combeferre gapes and Grantaire's face falls and he pulls further away.

“No,” Combeferre hurries to say, “I mean, yeah. Me too.”

“What?!” It's Grantaire's turn to gape.

“I'm ace. I- I always thought you knew.”

“I didn't,” Grantaire's face stretches into a smile and he looks so relieved and Combeferre feels an answering smile on his face. Then he starts laughing, he just feels so giddily happy. Grantaire starts laughing, too, falling back into Combeferre's arms and then they're both laughing, their faces buried in each other's shoulders.

It takes them a long time to calm down because every time one of them stops laughing enough to take a deep breath the other starts giggling again. Or Combeferre will press a kiss into Grantaire's hair and mutter giddily about how lucky he is and Grantaire will turn his head until he finds Combeferre's lips and press light kisses all over his face.

The bell rings suddenly and Grantaire jumps where his face is pressed into the crook of Combeferre's neck. When he doesn't move further away, though, Combeferre clears his throat.

“I don't mean to ruin the mood but I have a fourth period class I should go to.”

“Skip it,” Grantaire grumbles.

“I'm the teacher,” Combeferre laughs. He tries to disentangle himself from Grantaire but Grantaire clings onto him.

“Don't go yet.” Grantaire looks up at him, pouting.

“I'll be back,” Combeferre says and he can't deny that he's not even a little bit charmed by Grantaire's big blue puppy eyes.

“Promise?” Grantaire wraps his arms around Combeferre's neck and clings to him.

“Promise.” Combeferre smiles down at him. “And I'll even take you out for dinner tonight if you let me go to my class now.”

“Well, if you're offering,” Grantaire laughs. He lets go of Combeferre but doesn't let him step far away. Instead he pats down Combeferre's sweater and looks up at him very seriously.

“Give them the old razzle dazzle!” Grantaire breaks into a smile and Combeferre snorts despite himself.

“I can't believe I like you,” he laughs and swoops down to press one last kiss to Grantaire's lips. Then he hurries off to his classroom, happiness bright in his chest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [come see me on tumblr psst](http://lavawitch.tumblr.com/)


End file.
